


Magnetised

by skylines_and_seasides



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-10 05:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10430121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylines_and_seasides/pseuds/skylines_and_seasides
Summary: Drawn together like moths to a flame, these are the hidden scenes between Betty and Jughead. Canon compliant, one chapter per episode / 1x02 in which Jughead lends Betty his jacket.





	1. The Rivers Edge

In the hours after midnight, when the grey wraith of fog crept along it's streets, Riverdale resembled a ghost town. The neon shine of Pop's Chock'lit Shoppe was a single sliver of life in the desolate surroundings – and without it, those passing through would have certainly mistaken the town as abandoned.

It was during this time, before dawn broke, that Jughead Jones III felt most relaxed. Usually the sole patron of the diner, Jughead could be found sprawled across an entire booth, battered sneakers kicked off to the side and face buried so deeply behind a laptop screen that the area beneath his nose was erased. Save for the sound of his fingers flying against keys, and the sporadic clatter and chime of Pop polishing cutlery, the soda shop was quiet and still.

It reminded Jughead instinctively of home – back when his mother had been awake all hours of the night, scurrying around their living room in search of empty beer bottles, cigarette butts, and burger wrappers that needed disposing. A veritable exorcist, ridding her husband's demons from sight. Ever the insomniac, Jughead had often drifted in-and-out of slumber to the noisy chorus of glassware colliding in the trashcan.

When Pop appeared to clear the stack of dishes beside him, Jughead closed his eyes, buried his spine into the booth's cushions, and pretended he was in bed – the chink of china striking china was just Jellybean rummaging through their kitchen, pursuing a plate big enough to hold all her midnight snacks. This was not the first time he had done this – nor would it be the last. Much like a baby craved the soothing notes of a lullaby, Jughead longed to fall asleep listening to the sounds of his family. Though he knew it was foolish to do so, Jughead pretended that he would awake to find himself in his bedroom, and maybe if he just squeezed his lashes tight enough together –

The bell at Pop's counter clanged, loud and shrill, spearing Jughead's reverie. His eyes snapped wide open and landed on the only sight more welcome than his room: Betty Cooper. Stencilled in the entryways florescent lighting, she appeared so pale – shockingly white except for the unnatural blush on her cheeks. Being so ashen, the carnation-pink of her lips, the green of her eyes, and her golden halo of hair – which Jughead suddenly longed to thread his fingers through – seemed ethereally bright, unnaturally contrasted. For one mad, fleeting moment he believed he was looking at an angel.

Betty hadn't spotted him yet and rather than making his presence known, Jughead watched her intently. To someone on the outside, it would have appeared that he was checking her out – long legs, pretty face, a slight figure – but that was far from the truth. Rather, Jughead was mentally cataloguing all the ways in which this scene was wrong. Specious, even. Elizabeth Cooper did not spend the hours following the semi-formal at a diner of all places – she spent them gossiping at Kevin's place, or at an after-party, or on her doorstop, chastely kissing a football player goodnight.

Order placed, Betty turned, appraised the tables, and then locked eyes with him. "Jughead," she exclaimed, frowning. Sharp lines cropped up on her forehead. "What are you doing here?"

Hurt prickled inside Jughead. He wasn't an idiot – he knew his feelings for Betty were entirely one-sided, that Archie Andrew's hold on her affections was iron-clad. He knew that despite missing her the way a sailor aches for the sea, Betty had spent her time in Los Angeles numb to his absence. He had thought though, perhaps misguidedly, that upon returning home she would at least be pleased to see him.

"I missed you too, Betts," Jughead began sardonically, raising his eyebrows at her; for a split-second they vanished beneath his fringe. "How was my summer?" He paused and pointed at himself, all exaggerated movements, slowly and deliberately. "There's nothing much to report but thanks for asking. Although I do think The Coneheads would have been impressed by my cheeseburger consumption."

Betty sighed and slipped into the seat across from him, her dress crinkling around her thighs. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that," she said contritely. "It's just late and I wasn't expecting to see you here," she paused to fold her hands into her lap. "Or anyone, for that matter."

Jughead blinked and drew back a little. "Sorry to disappoint," he muttered, more to the sprinkling of crumbs on the tabletop than the blonde in front of him.

"No, no," Betty began with a shake of her head, "I'm glad you're here." Wringing her fingers together, she added: "My mind is just all over the place tonight."

"I can see that," Jughead told her. Seeing Betty's puzzled expression, he gestured at her outfit. "You mistook Pop's for the semi-formal."

Betty tugged the edges of her skirt defensively. "Oh, be quiet," she said, smiling. "I know I'm slightly overdressed."

"And Thorn Hill is just slightly big," Jughead joked, pinching the air between his thumb and index finger.

Betty stared at him pointedly; her eyes were huge and grey in the booth's dull light, barely tinged with green. "You're the one who always says this place needs a dress-code."

"Yes, one that stops varsity players and cheerleaders," Jughead clarified. Expression turning thoughtful, he pursed his lips together. "Perhaps Pop's should prohibit anyone wearing blue and gold from entering?"

"That won't work," Betty disagreed; Jughead cocked his head, perplexed. "Haven't you heard the news – I'm a River Vixen now."

Eyes closed in a silent plea, Jughead begged his brain to focus on something besides Betty dressed as a River Vixen – to picture anything except how jaw-dropping her legs would appear in a cheerleading skirt. His prayers went unanswered. Unable to control his imagination, Jughead unravelled; his stomach seized, his cheeks erupted scarlet, his mouth dried into sandpaper…

Collecting himself, Jughead cleared his throat. Noisily. "Because Betty Cooper doesn't have enough extra-curricula's already," he replied hoarsely, rolling his eyes at her. Breath easing back into his lungs, he added: "And no, I hadn't heard."

"And what does Jughead Jones know about extra-curricula's?" Betty asked, unable to keep a slight edge of disapproval from her tone. "Last time I checked, you were doing a grand total of zero."

"It's called balancing out the universe," Jughead said ruefully, "With you around, someone has to slack off."

It was Betty's turn to roll her eyes. "Right," she drawled in disbelief. "You're being lazy for my benefit. I should have known."

Jughead gave a half-shrug. "Doubt me all you want, Betts. I'm just trying to keep the world from imploding."

"More like hell from freezing over," Betty retorted, her hand wound in a curl of her hair.

Jughead's reply was interrupted by a brunette waitress, who had materialised seconds earlier with Betty's order: one extra-large chocolate sundae. He eyed the toppling mountain of whipped-cream, maple syrup, fudge sauce, peanuts, and god-knows-what else in amusement. "There's been a mistake," he mocked, voice solemn. "There's meant to be ice-cream in that."

Betty's stare swung between her sundae and Jughead. "There is," she paused to pluck the spoon from beside her. Waving it half-heartedly over the spire of toppings, she continued: "It's just underneath all this." There was a beat of silence in which Jughead remained still – waiting – until realisation struck. Betty groaned. "And that was the joke…which went completely over my head."

"I'm sure someone in Greendale caught it," Jughead quipped. Then, he reached over, snatched a single glazed cherry from her bowl and popped it on his tongue.

Betty sighed. "Sure," she grumbled. "Just help yourself."

Brazen-faced and grinning, Jughead grabbed a napkin. "If you insist," he said slyly. After swallowing his second mouthful of Betty's dessert, Jughead smacked his lips together and appraised his spoon musingly, spinning it between his fingers as he spoke, "Betts, I'm not convinced on the toppings you've chosen. I mean, did you really need peanuts, sprinkles and maple syrup?" He paused the spoon mid-twirl. "Seems a bit much."

Betty opened her mouth and then closed it. Finally, after setting her chin, she said: "Did you really just critique my sundae order?"

"Riverdale has experienced enough tragedy as of late," Jughead explained. "There's no need to add your dessert choices to the list if we can help it."

Betty inspected her sundae with knitted brows. "You don't think tragedy is a slight exaggeration?"

Jughead shook his head. "Hardly. Shakespeare could write sonnets about this topping combination." A sigh fell from his lips. "Peanuts, sprinkles, and maple syrup," he repeated. "Really?"

Swallowing a dollop of whipped-cream, Betty glared at him. "You know, I don't remember ordering your opinion."

"Why didn't you tell me it was on the menu?" Jughead deadpanned, using his spare hand to adjust his beanie as he spoke. "Here I've been dishing it out for free."

After that, they were quiet for a time, their cutlery clinking loudly against the side of the bowl as they took turns grabbing a spoonful of ice-cream. When the bowl was almost half-empty, Betty spoke up. "Your genius is wasted on food. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Jughead smirked lopsidedly at her, the angles of his face devilish. "Did you just call me a genius?"

"I'm being serious, Juggie," Betty told him earnestly between mouthfuls. Closing the space between them, she leant forward and propped her head onto her elbows, palms facing upwards and gripping her cheeks. "If you spent half as much time studying as you did eating fries, you could rank higher in our classes than Dilton Doiley."

Jughead hesitated. How could he tell her? How could he explain that his grades didn't matter – that he could barely scrounge enough money for lunch, let alone college tuition. "Maybe," he conceded eventually, jaw cinched. Bitterness sprang to life in his chest and, as usual, found its escape in a snarky comment. "I'll stick his yearbook photo up on my wall so I have someone to idolize. I'd wager Doiley is a better choice than Garfield."

"Garfield?" Betty prompted, cocking her head to the side.

"You know the ginger cat from the comics?" Jughead asked, slow and derisive. He set his spoon down. "Lazy, cynical, obsessed with eating…" Here, he counted to three with his pale, slender fingers. "I'm sure you've heard of him."

Betty made a face at him. "You can stop anytime you'd like," she said, reaching over and prodding a cluster of sprinkles with her spoon, clearly disheartened. "You've made your point."

And she had made hers, too, Jughead realised, joy dawning inside him. No one had ever believed in him before – him, Jughead Jones, a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Not until now, not until Betty. Warmth spread through his body, straight down to his toes, sure and steady as a sunrise.

Suddenly, it seemed important to Jughead that Betty knew this. He inhaled sharply. "Betts –" The back of his throat collapsed; his voice sounded more vulnerable than he had ever heard. He was certain Betty could hear the beat of his heart behind that single syllable. Then, his resolve broke like a dam under too much pressure. Sinking back into his seat, Jughead deflected the conversation away from himself. "Let's discuss your hero – did you and Archie kiss and make up?"

Betty's face twisted, as if she'd been stung be a bee; her eyes hardened, darkening into mossy green. Palms clenched and lips taut, she leaned away from Jughead. "How did you – did Archie tell you what happened tonight?"

"Nothing specific. Just that you were pissed at him," Jughead told her flatly, stroking the nape of his neck.

"I was," Betty admitted. She took a shallow breath before adding, "I still am."

Jughead crossed and uncrossed his legs. "You two have been best friends for ages. Whatever it is, you'll figure it out," he reassured her.

"That's just it – Archie and I are best friends," Betty's voice cracked like glass. When she spoke again, her words trembled in the air between them. "We're just best friends. Archie made that crystal-clear tonight." She rolled her teeth over her lips, suddenly appearing nervous. "He said I was 'too perfect' – do you think that's true?"

Jughead remained silent for a moment. He could not recall seeing a lovelier face than Betty's – so finely cut, all high cheekbones and skin so white and clear it could have been sculpted from marble. If a face more exquisite existed in Riverdale, Jughead had not seen it. As for Archie, Jughead knew he likened her beauty to that of a porcelain doll: fragile in every line, breakable to the touch. Enough to admire from a distance, too delicate to ever hold.

"The concept of perfection is relative," Jughead told her finally, slow and even. "But to answer your question: yes and no." Betty's eyes searched his face, mystified; Jughead licked his lips, mulling over his next words carefully. "You have your flaws, Betty Cooper." A pause. His heart tripped over itself in anticipation for what he was about to say. "However, that doesn't mean you can't be perfect."

Betty blinked rapidly up at him, her lashes golden rain as they darted back and forth. Jughead watched a blush blossom on her cheeks, delicate and petal-pink. "I'm not sure I really follow," she murmured at last.

Jughead toyed with the cuffs on his jacket. "All I'm trying to say is that Archie Andrews is an imbecile," he said whilst tugging a thread loose.

"Am I terrible best friend if I agree with you?"

"I'll give you a free-pass tonight."

"How generous of you," Betty crooned sarcastically. Then, stifling a yawn, she stood up and smoothed the creases from her dress. Glancing at her watch and then back at Jughead, she said: "It's half-past three, I should really head off."

"A whole eight hours past your bedtime," Jughead teased. "What's next – a tattoo?"

"What's next is sleep," Betty informed him, shifting from one foot to another. "Try not to dehydrate with all that humour of yours while I'm gone."

"I'll do my best," Jughead promised, mouth stretched wide in a grin.

At that, Betty exited the booth, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. She paused abruptly when she passed him. "Juggie," she began, a tender lilt softening her tone. Angling herself over the row of seats, she gave his forearm a gentle squeeze. "I'm really glad you were here tonight."

"Me too, Betts."


	2. A Touch of Evil

There was an unspoken agreement amongst the males at Riverdale High School: if a girl wore another man's jacket, she was off limits.

To them, a jacket was a sign of _intent_ – not so much a declaration of monogamy, but a signal that the owner was making a deliberate play for the wearer's affections. Those who broke this rule were shunned in the locker-room, and those – like Reggie Mantle – who dared distribute multiple jackets at once were mocked relentlessly.

Archie had lent his jacket to several girls over the years, each time resulting in a date at Pop's.

Betty had regretfully worn Chuck Clayton's sweater on a freshman field trip, much to the collective horror of Kevin, Archie and Jughead.

Cheryl had once been sighted in Jason's football jersey (there still wasn't a consensus on whether or not this had been an accident).

Despite a record number of offers, the fashion-conscience Veronica had never donned another man's jacket, although her rejections were more a sign of fastidious outfit choices than a lack of interest.

As for Jughead – there was, and always had been, only one girl he had wanted to give his jacket to.

* * *

Dusk lengthened the shadows outside Riverdale High School. Against an ever-darkening canvas of grey and murky blue, the building's inconspicuous outline morphed into a dark and towering edifice, one that threatened to swallow the surrounding grounds whole. A ribbon of light remained at the foot of the bleachers and it was there – on the farthest row to the right – that Betty Cooper sat, her profile caught in the dwindling glow of the setting sun. 

She was in the middle of replying to an earlier text message from Veronica when the creak of a step alerted her, and she looked up to find Jughead standing before her, tousled-haired, his second-hand copy of _The American Promise_ tucked beneath his elbow. 

"Jughead." Betty wedged her phone between her knees. She studied him for a moment; he was pale as bone, his blues eyes striking against so much white skin and the darkness of his hair and eyelashes. "You're here later than usual." 

"I fell asleep in the library," Jughead admitted, unabashed. Nodding at the book propped against his side, he continued: "An unfortunate side-effect of Haggly's assigned reading." 

"You should probably see a Doctor about that," Betty said lightly, peach-glossed lips curved in a playful smile. 

"Or just quit homework cold-turkey," Jughead countered, smiling lazily down at her as he rocked back-and-forth on the balls of his feet. "What's your excuse for being here?" 

"I'm waiting for my Mom – she was meant to pick me up from cheer practice an hour ago," Betty told him. Then, expression turning hopeful, she moved her bags to the ground, freeing the space next to her. "I'll buy you a cheeseburger if you keep me company." 

"And a side of fries?" 

"And a side of fries," agreed Betty, nodding. 

"Deal," Jughead said, plonking himself beside her on the bench. Arms acting as a snare, he drew his legs against himself and propped his chin atop his knees. "Although, I am surprised you'd risk being seen with me," he began at length, tightening his hold on his shins. "Don't River Vixens have a reputation to uphold?" 

"Don't be silly, Jug," Betty replied, turning to face Jughead with a frown. The ribbon of sunlight from earlier had receded considerably, so whilst his body basked in a pool of amber light, the angles of his face were coated almost entirely in shadows. His blue eyes remained luminous though, peeking out in slivers from beneath his eyelids. "I'm not going to stop being your friend just because I'm a cheerleader." 

"I can't imagine your beloved captain is too thrilled by those sentiments," Jughead replied evenly, his half-lidded gaze fixed determinedly on a set of goalposts. It was a stance that gave every appearance of nonchalance, and yet Betty sensed it was an act. 

"Cheryl doesn't exactly have a leg to stand on since being arrested," Betty said whilst tilting her head back, eyes now cast heavenward, the bottom of her ponytail brushing against the nape of her neck. At last, the sun dipped below the horizon. "Besides, I don't care what she thinks." 

"I'd be careful if I were you, Betty," Jughead warned, lowering his voice conspiringly. "Rumour has it she killed her brother." 

" _Jughead_ , you can't just say –" Betty inhaled abruptly. "Cheryl may be…" 

"– Satan incarnate," Jughead interjected, growing cool. 

"… _A little conniving_ , but she's hardly a murderer." Betty shot Jughead a pointed glance; "Or 'Satan incarnate', for that matter." 

"You're right – vile succubus is a far more accurate description," spat Jughead, suddenly scathing, and there was something akin to hatred in his tone – a sharpness Betty had never heard from him before, razor-edged as a guillotine. Jughead's customary detachment from the world seemed to be crumbling, Betty noticed with alarm; his lips were snarled quite angrily as well, and the lines surrounding his jaw appeared tight and tense. Noticing the way Betty was frowning at him, Jughead sighed. "What?" 

Betty shook her head. "Nothing," she began carefully. "I was just wondering where that outburst came from…" Despite Betty staring at him expectantly, Jughead did not respond. By the time she accepted his silence, a cluster of stars had blossomed overhead, growing steadily more lambent as the sky turned to ink. Then, as a startling possibility occurred to her, she asked: "Jughead…you don't _believe_ the rumours that she did it, right?" 

"Are you saying Nancy Woods didn't fact-check her sources before telling me Cheryl shot Jason?" Jughead let out an inflated sigh. "And the Riverdale grapevine is normally _so_ reliable." Betty crossed her arms. "Well, what is it then?" 

"What is what?" 

" _This_ …this…" Betty searched for the words. "This badmouthing of Cheryl; it's unlike you." 

"Because I usually have such wonderful things to say about her," Jughead deadpanned. 

"Stop dodging," Betty said hotly. "Jughead, if Cheryl's done something to you…" 

"– Betty, _relax_ ," Jughead interrupted gently, the surge of tenderness in his tone stunning her into silence. Seconds later, more gently still; "It's not me she's been antagonizing." Clearing his throat a little awkwardly, Jughead glanced up at Betty, then down at his hands – he had balled them into fists, the whites of his knuckles bulging. "I heard about what Cheryl did yesterday – how you invited her over and she re-enacted the Spanish Inquisition." Jughead swallowed audibly, Adam's apple rippling. "I won't – Cheryl shouldn't just get away with doing that to you." 

Betty's eyes flew wide open – was Jughead Jones being protective of _her_? 

The air around them had chilled considerably since night had fallen; goose-bumps had sprung up across Betty's arms and legs, and she'd surrendered to the rush of cold with a spate of shivers. Jughead hadn't been immune to the bitterness either, having pulled his beanie swiftly over his ears when the temperature began to plummet. 

And yet, despite that – despite the harsh, frigid wind whistling by them – Betty immediately felt very, very warm. 

_I won't – Cheryl shouldn't just get away with doing that to you._

Her heart was also beating very, very fast. 

In the moments that followed, Betty was acutely aware of how alone they were – how the space between their shoulders seemed infinitesimal, no longer punctuated by a red-headed boy. She thought of how strange it was that Archie wasn't sitting between them, and how, stranger still, his absence felt completely natural. 

Betty exhaled slowly, breath fanning before her long, silver coils. "Juggie, I know what Cherly did was awful, but so is losing a sibling," she said. "Let's not burn her at the stake just yet – okay?" 

"Okay, Cooper. No burning Cheryl at the stake just yet," Jughead repeated with a half-nod. Catching Betty's eyes with his, Jughead smirked wickedly at her. "You're helping me find somewhere else to toast my marshmallows though." 

Attempting to appear disapproving, Betty jutted her chin out. "I will do no such thing," she told him, and whilst her voice carried the appropriate level of condemnation, an answering smile was already tugging at the corners of her mouth, suggesting she felt quite the opposite. 

Suddenly, a ferocious gust of wind tore through the bleachers, lashing against the railing with a tremendous wail. The bench shuddered beneath the pair, and they watched as a whirlpool of leaves blew across the oval, tossing and turning against the grass. Betty's earlier rush of warmth had vanished, replaced by a chill that whipped right through her, freezing her bones to ice. 

Then, as if he were a genie granting a wish, Jughead shoved his jacket onto her lap. "Here, take this," he mumbled, looking down at the ground abruptly; Betty could see a crimson blush colouring his cheeks, brighter than Pop's neon signage. 

Betty glanced at the fleecy lining of his jacket – she wanted nothing more than to cocoon herself inside of it, but she knew it was only polite to protest first. "Are you sure?" she asked, teeth chattering. "You could catch a cold." 

"Then it's a good thing I'm awful at ballgames." 

"And jokes, apparently," Betty quipped. 

"Seriously though, Betts," said Jughead, determined. "It's freezing out here, put it on." 

Betty did. Her spine melted as she slipped the jacket over her shoulders, the sudden rush of heat dizzying. She closed her eyes. "Thanks, Jug," she said. 

Jughead smiled shyly at her. "Anytime," he whispered. 

* * *

When Alice Cooper eventually arrived to collect her daughter – an apology for her tardiness noticeably absent from her lips – Jughead realized that Betty was departing with his jacket still fastened firmly around her. It had been an accident on her behalf, a moment of forgetfulness caused by her haste to escape the stinging cold. 

Rather than stopping her, Jughead sat back and watched, dazzled, as Betty's ponytail swished behind her like a hypnotist's pendulum. 

Then, his face split open in a smile. 

For a little while longer, Betty Cooper was his.


End file.
